


Loud and Clear

by forgottenwords



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Bunker Fic, Episode: s09e13 The Purge, Fix It Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, The Purge, mute!Dean, tag to 9x13, worried/caring!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgottenwords/pseuds/forgottenwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been three days since he last heard Dean's voice, three days since there was any indication that there was a man still living inside his brothers body. On the fourth day, he spoke. One word uttered so softly he was afraid it had been an illusion. "Sammy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When he woke, the first thing Sam noticed was the quietness. An eerie type of silence, usually he could hear Dean rummaging around faintly in the background, his brother always had a loud personality.

An ounce of guilt settled in his stomach when he thought of Dean and the words he had thrown at him last night. He was just telling the truth, but the moment he spoke he could feel the air turn sour and it made his whole body curdle. He had to leave his brothers presence because he wouldn’t have been able to bear the look on Dean’s face. 

Upon further reflection, Sam realized he was more than a little abrasive while talking to Dean, but he was fed-up with everything and had to make his brother understand he couldn’t just make decisions for other people without consequences. 

Letting out a sigh, Sam rolled out of bed and figured he should go face his brother.

…

Silence continued to echo throughout the bunker, he could only hear the sound of his sock feet padding on the floor. It was almost like Dean wasn’t there at all; like he had left in the dark hours of the night. That thought hollowed out a hole in his chest, made his heart beat a staccato rhythm akin to drums and as much as Sam wanted to deny the increasing panic, it wouldn’t ebb.

As he got increasingly closer to the kitchen, a low hum of a radio could be distinguished through the doorway. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued his way over until the words of the song infiltrated his ears. 

_One look from you and I would fall from grace…It was the heat of the moment…_

Every cell in his body froze. Panic increased by a tenfold as he listened to the song filter through the airwaves, breath caught in the back of his throat. No…

Breaking free from his daze, Sam quickly jogged into the kitchen, trying not to slip in his haste. Using the doorway to stop him from pitching forward, he glanced with wide eyes into the room and laid eyes on Dean. The ache that had been spreading in his chest subsided once more. God, he hated Asia, specifically that song with a burning passion. After Mystery Spot, it never failed to send him into a panic. 

Breathing heavily, more from fear than the physical exertion, he released his tight grip from the doorway. It made his speech seem slightly hypocritical, Sam observed while keeping an eye on his brother. He had said Dean only brought him back so he wouldn’t be alone; well here he was overreacting to ‘Heat of the Moment’ and having flashbacks to the point it made him feel nauseous, thinking Dean was gone – or worse – and he was the one who was actually alone. 

Flashbacks where Gabriel had proven no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t be able to save Dean. That his brother’s life would just fall through his fingers. It was as if someone had ripped out his lungs. Before his trip to hell, Dean had been just as willing as he was during the trials to die, to sacrifice himself to save his brother. He had been just as desperate to save his brother from hell as Dean had been to keep him alive after the trials. Oh god- he understood why, loneliness was never a welcomed friend, and he of all people knew that. He also knew Dean would have been destroyed if he would have died, just like he was when Dean was in hell. When he thought his brother had died – but instead had been residing in purgatory. 

Pulling a hand roughly through his hair, Sam watched as Dean cracked an eye open and raised an eyebrow at his panic ridden state. He had formerly had both eyes closed, sitting at the small table with his legs stretched out over all three of the round seats, back against the wall for support and his arms crossed. He didn’t speak; truthfully it didn’t look like he had enough energy too, but narrowed his eyes in confusion. 

“Morning,” He ground out roughly in an attempt to cover up his panic, glaring at the radio before walking towards the coffee maker. Dean didn’t reciprocate the greeting and Sam felt an inkling of unease still rolling about as he fished a mug from the cupboard and poured himself a cup of coffee. Swallowing a bitter mouthful before turning around to savor the sight of his brother. 

The song now had him on edge, not that he wasn’t before, but the lack of response from Dean worried him. His eyes were closed again, lips pulled into a tight line. The pallor of his skin looked almost grey, ashen. The bruises under his eyes told a tale of a sleepless night, but he was thoroughly surprised and relieved to see that the bottle of whiskey was still half full and had been traded for a cup of coffee sometime during the night. 

Noticing his wrinkled clothes and the amount of stubble amounting on his face, Sam questioned, “You sleep out here last night?”

Dean nodded, not bothering to open his eyes when he reached blindly for his own mug of coffee to take a sip. 

He raised an eyebrow, “So, you not talking today either?”

A nonchalant shrug was all he gained in return and his brothers shoulders sunk, fell like a crashing avalanche. 

“Isn’t that a little childish?”

Dean raised one eyelid, shrugged again and took a swig of coffee. 

“Dean.”

Both eyebrows rose this time, and he pointed a finger at his chest as if to say ‘me?’ 

Sam clenched his jaw, “It’s not funny.”

Dean smiled defiantly in response, but it came off as a pained grimace when he slowly shook his head to the side as if Sam had understood. 

Taking a step back, Sam stared at his brother in astonishment. The pure carelessness and fractured way Dean had smiled, how dim his eyes looked, the general guise he had…it led the youngest to two conclusions: Dean was broken, shattered in a way that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fix. Secondly, it was his fault. He had broken his brother; emotionally beaten him within an inch of his life. 

Swallowing ruefully, he could feel the familiar weight of guilt corroding a hole in his stomach; unable to decipher if it was the guilt or coffee making him nauseous. Regret was heavy on his tongue as Dean closed his eyes again, setting his mug on the table. He wanted to yell at his brother to talk to him, say something...anything. But that guilt had him at a standstill. Sam knew what he said the night before was the truth, it was harsh and it also looked like Dean had misinterpreted what he was actually trying to convey. 

Now, there was a chasm so wide between them he didn’t know if it could be bridged. The radio was the only thing still permeating the silence, channeled to an oldies station he would usually hear Dean humming along to; now there was only the static and tinny trill coming from the speakers. 

Silently, he placed his nearly-full coffee on the counter and left the kitchen, unable to be in his brother’s presence any longer to witness and feel the palpable ache radiating off him.

…

The next two days passed in a similar fashion. 

Sam had tried multiple times to get Dean to talk to him, engage in conversation, to say one damn word, but nothing would make him budge. Half the time he wondered if Dean was even aware he was talking to him. The vacant eyed look his brother was sporting was  
worrisome; trying to bring him back from the edge was going to be arduous. 

The only periods his brother seemed cognizant of his own actions was when he was researching on the computer, everything else was contained within the oblivious haze he operated under. 

It was painful to watch someone who was usually so loud and boisterous fade into a silent shell of their former self. Dean’s whole personality had dimmed alarmingly quickly. It wasn’t even an angry, resentment filled silence, it was the silence of someone who had been fighting so hard that finally just…gave up. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if that was how Dean perceived him; someone who had been fighting to just give up in the end. Swallowing that thought, he continued with his own research, hoping that he could break Dean out of the funk he was in.

…

On the fourth day, Sam finally called out for assistance. He couldn’t handle it anymore and had tried to no avail to get his brother to speak. It was eating him up inside and provided him the courage to call out, wringing his hands together in trepidation. 

“Cas, please. I need your help.”

With the sound of flapping wings, Castiel was there within an instant, looking decidedly disheveled. 

“Sam, I heard your prayers. Are you alright?”

Blinking, Sam barely had enough time to respond to the angel’s rapid fire question. 

“I think I should be asking you the same thing, what the hell happened Cas?” he asked with a frown, spotting a few blood stains on the beige trench coat.

“I had an altercation with a few other angels while searching for information on Bartholomew, otherwise I am fine. What’s going on Sam? I figured you and Dean would be alright until we found substantial leads about Metatron and Gadreel.”

Sam sighed, turning his gaze towards the area where his brothers room was. “Physically, we’re fine, but we came back from a hunt a few days ago and I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“To Dean?”

He nodded, swerving his gaze back towards his companion in sorrow.

“He hasn’t said anything to me in four days…because I told him I wouldn’t save him. If the situation had been reversed and he would have done the trials. If he would have been willing to die.”

Cas tilted his head in his familiar gesture, complete with narrowed eyes. “Sam, that’s not true. I’ve seen you, you’d do anything to save Dean.”

He ran a hand over his face. “Yes, I would. But I don’t think Dean took it the way I meant. If-if he would have wanted to die, I wouldn’t stop him. I wouldn’t rip him from the peace he deserves to be brought back to…this. He’s endured so much pain and I couldn’t take that away, not if he was finally happy. 

“No more deals either, ‘cause I know he would, to save me and I wouldn’t be able to handle the thought of him in hell, again. Dean he…he just deserves to be happy for once and not have to worry about me.” 

His companion had a thoughtful look on his usually stoic features. “Have you considered the possibility that Dean won’t truly be at peace, unless he is worrying about you? It is what he has been doing since you were a baby and the happiest I have seen him is when he is by your side.”

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but clamped it shut when Castiel continued. 

“I’ve heard you say his personality is ‘ninety percent crap’, but from what I have seen the in the past five years, Dean’s soul is one hundred percent family.”

Dipping his head, he nodded, a lump forming in his throat. Essentially, he had stripped Dean of everything that made him, him. The one thing that he had to rely on; them as brothers – family – he had taken that away from him. Running a hand through his hair, Sam let out a harsh breath. 

“I realize that, God- how could I not? Dean has sacrificed everything for family, for me. And I can understand why he’d hate me for what I said, but I can’t stand him not talking to me. At all. I can’t handle it Cas, I can’t– 

He stalled when a hand was placed upon his arm, he looked up to view Cas through slightly blurry eyes.

A watery and slightly manic laugh bubbled passed his lips, “Never thought I’d say this, but I can’t stand not hearing my big brothers voice.”

The angel gave him an encouraging smile, “Go talk to him. If there’s anyone who will get through to Dean, it is you Sam.”

“I’ve already tried…”

“I believe you may have more success this time, go speak with him.”

Sam nodded again, giving a small smile in return. “Thanks Cas, really. I just…”

“There is no need to thank me Sam, but it is appreciated nonetheless. I’ll come by and check on you two in a few days. Hopefully you will have ‘cleared the air’ by then.”

After a curt nod and a squeeze to his arm, the angel disappeared with a flap of wings. Leaving behind a decidedly anxious man. Sam laced his fingers together and rested his hands on his head, closing his eyes while taking a few calming breaths. Muttering ‘we will get past this’ like a mantra; as if it was a life raft in the middle of the ocean. 

They had to, or…or he didn’t know what he’d do. 

Standing in the middle of the library, Sam was broken from his haze with a word uttered so softly, so frailly he thought it was an illusion.

“Sammy.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last part, enjoy :)

_“Sammy.”_

When he realized he wasn’t imagining things, that his brother had spoken, he dropped his arms and froze in shock. It had come from behind him; Dean was probably standing in the entryway to the library. But he couldn’t turn around, couldn’t face his brother because he had also probably just heard every word he fucking said– 

That one word, it had his shoulders slump with relief and goddammit, he was sure there were tears streaming from his eyes but he still couldn’t turn around, too ashamed to see the pain etched onto his brothers face. The pain he had caused.

Sam clenched one fist and placed his other hand over his mouth to prevent himself from gasping out loud. It had only been four days, but it felt like an eternity since he’d heard Dean speak and it was astonishing how much one word could make him react like this. That nickname that he used to hate, the one that now was an embodiment of their relationship – only he gets to call me that – the name he had wanted to hear his brother speak for the past four days.

Releasing his hand, he uttered, “Dean,” into the vast sea of the bunker, trying not to hear how his voice cracked over that one syllable and the way it echoed around the room. 

“I…you heard every word of that, didn’t you?” He asked in a timid voice, wondering how – or if his brother would respond. 

“Loud and clear, Sammy.” Came the reply, still quiet, but stronger than before. 

Sam dipped his head, nodding as a lump formed in the back of his throat. Grateful that Dean was at least able to speak to him. After what he had said days before and realizing the true affects his words had, he was surprised Dean even _wanted_ to talk to him. Swallowing down the guilt, Sam tried to explain himself.

“Dean, I’m sorry. About what I said, I-I had no right. Maybe a little bit, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, god…” He barely choked out the last words, verging on hysterical babbling. Blinking a few times, Sam drew in a breath and continued.

“It’s just…we’ve been so far apart these past few years, you know? With all the lies, the sacrifice and pain, I’m afraid things will never be the same ‘cause I don’t want that. We need to get past this somehow; it just doesn’t feel like it’s ever going to happen-

Apparently, Sam had been babbling, focused enough on the words that he didn’t notice his brother approach and stand in front of him. Dean placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders and forced him to look into his eyes. 

“Hey, hey, Sammy I know. I know, alright? As much as I want to say things are okay, I know they’re not. But someday, they will be. Hell, even if it takes years. Eventually…we’ll be okay.”

Dean looked away for a moment, exhaustion creeping in from the past few days, before turning back to Sam with a more relaxed posture. 

“Now, I’m the one that should be sorry, shutting you out like that.” His grip intensified and he took a breath to steady his voice. “It’s just…I finally thought you’d given up on me you know? After everything…but now I know you didn’t mean it like that, at least not fully. I shouldn’t have believed so easily when you said you wouldn’t save me, ‘cause I know you would Sammy, if it came down to that...you would.” 

Dean could feel his brother meekly nod, head bobbing up and down. “I would Dean, but you have to promise me: no more deals. I mean it, no more self-sacrificing for one another when one of us is just going to end up alone. As much as I know you don’t want to be left alone, I don’t either. I don’t. Truth be told bro, we both turn into messes when the other’s gone.”

His brother let out a weary, yet relieved chuckle as he squeezed once, pulling back to look him in the eyes again.

“You’re right about that one little brother. Now, you once told me to have faith in you, I’m asking you to have faith in me. That we can continue without hurting each other, ‘cause only god knows how many times that’s worked out in our favor.”

Sam gave a small grin. “Alright. But if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it as equals big brother,” he agreed, holding out a hand. 

Sporting a smile of his own, Dean tentatively shook his hand. “Okay. I think this calls for a celebratory drink.”

At the sight of his brother’s face falling, he held up a hand in protest. “Hey, I won’t go overboard this time man. One beer, that’s all I’m asking.”

Sam rolled his eyes and was going to start walking towards the kitchen, but Dean stopped him. He raised an eyebrow at the nervousness on his brother’s face.

“One more thing. Cas was right, when you guys were talking.” 

Dean rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “The only time I’m going to be at peace is when I’m worrying about you. And I know you’re gonna try and change my mind, but it’s true. Watching over you was what brought me out of…this, the first time.”

“This?” Sam asked confused, regarding his brother as he tried to explain.

“The no response thing. After…after mom died, I didn’t talk for three weeks, I was only four at the time so I guess it was the shock. Dad was in his own state of grief and I just sorta shut down. But watching over you broke me out of it.” 

Dean’s mouth twitched as he recalled the memory. 

“It was when you were starting to talk actually…and one afternoon I could hear you babbling away from the bed. So I raced over and  
climbed up beside you to see what you were saying. It was faint, but you said ‘D…’ He paused for effect.

Sam blanched, “As in Dean?”

Dean shook his head amused, “Uh..no. Dumbass.”

“Why’d you call me a dumbass?” His brother asked, patented bitchface in place. 

“Your first word was Dumbass, dumbass. When you first said it, I burst out laughing and Dad said I didn’t stop giggling for like, two hours. Then I tried speaking to you to see if you’d say anything else.”

He deadpanned, “You’re joking.”

“No more lies, remember Sammy?” 

Sam glared at his brother, though it didn’t contain any heat. Dean rolled his eyes in return and passed by Sam to get to the kitchen.

The youngest Winchester watched him go, noticing the slow pace and hunched shoulders. Dean was exhausted and truthfully, so was he. But as cliché as it was, a weight had been lifted, it felt like he could breathe again. And he was grateful; glad that Dean was speaking and coherent again. With a wry smile, Sam headed towards the kitchen, thinking that he’d always be able to get Dean to talk. No matter the circumstances.


End file.
